


i heard love is blind

by girl0nfire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky fucks his way through Chris Evan's filmography, Crack, Friends to Lovers, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Multiple Partners, Prompt Fill, Sam Wilson is tried of their collective shit, Steve fucks his way through Sebastian Stan's filmography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve keeps bringing home guys that look like Bucky; Bucky keeps bringing home guys that look like Steve.  Sam just wants to drink his coffee in peace.  (Guest appearances by nearly every character Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans have ever played.  Really.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i heard love is blind

**Author's Note:**

> [prompt fill](http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org/307.html?thread=175155#cmt175155) for [stevebucky fest](http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org) on dreamwidth: 
> 
> "Post-WS. Steve keeps screwing guys that look like Bucky. Bucky keeps screwing guys who look like Steve. Their friends eventually stage an intervention. Basically an excuse to have Steve/every character ever played by Sebastian Stan ever, and Bucky/every character played by Chris Evans ever." 
> 
> yeah, I don't really know either.

Sam’s _thisclose_ to installing a coffeemaker and a minifridge in his bedroom and never leaving it again because this is just getting _ridiculous_.

Bucky’s in the kitchen, his back to the door while he makes coffee and when Sam says good morning, he doesn’t respond, not even his customary before-noon grunt and it takes Sam three entire seconds before he realizes that Bucky doesn’t usually dress like the ringmaster of a kinky circus.

This guy – Not Bucky – he’s got a wicked scar around his neck, and his eyes are little too wide and for a moment Sam considers suggesting that maybe someone who looks two clicks away from _total batshit_ should probably use the decaf they keep in the cabinet for emergencies, but thinks better of it. 

It’s another moment before he comes to the conclusion that they’re not being robbed.

So Sam just nods awkwardly, still no response from this guy who hasn’t even _blinked_ yet and Sam turns right around, running into Steve in the hallway, half-dressed and sheepish.

“That one yours?”

+

Two days later, and Sam can’t wait to be home. All he _wants_ to do is have a beer and sit on the couch he paid for a third of… preferably when it’s not draped with a half-naked, smirking guy who's got his hands fisted in Bucky’s hair, thrusting roughly into Bucky’s mouth, and from the way Bucky’s crouched Sam can almost make out the two pink-raw handprints still seared to his hips that almost look like _burns_ and _maybe the bar around the corner’s still doing happy hour_.

+

There’s got to be, like, a single club in Manhattan stocked with vaguely European tall-dark-handsomes with square jaws and tragic backstories, because there’s _no way_ Steve’s finding these guys on the street. Sam can’t even keep them straight anymore – he’s had to resort to nicknames, and frankly, while he hasn’t asked, he’s pretty sure Steve doesn’t even know half of their names himself.

Hipster Hair comes back twice, because he forgot his _totally_ not ironic leather jacket and then his… wallet, which Sam’s fairly sure is pretty-boy code for stash, if the way he avoids Sam’s eyes is any indication. He’s got a nice smile, anyway, not that Sam’s willing to bet many people see it, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the line of purple-red marks decorating his throat.

Sad Face leaves before seven, the creases in his uniform slacks still crisp like he’d made Steve hang them up overnight, and when Sam offers him a cup of coffee on his way out he looks like he might break right down and cry. There’s a car outside waiting for him, dark tinted windows and diplomatic plates, and seriously, where does Steve even _find these guys_?

+

Who the _fuck_ even wears suspenders without a dress shirt? What, like his pants are going to fall down?

Bucky’s in the shower, last night’s tattooed conquest chainsmoking through the cracked kitchen window and he’s on his phone, talking away a mile a minute and scrubbing at his beard with his free hand. From what Sam gathers while he pours a bowl of cereal, guy’s a lawyer, maybe, something medical. He licks at his teeth, fidgets in the spaces where he’s forced to be silent, and Sam keeps his distance.

Suspenders stubs his cigarettes out on the windowsill and Sam’s had about enough.

+

Steve breaks the shower door fucking some guy with an eighties haircut, who leaves his obnoxious ski jacket thrown over the back of the couch like he owns the place. On his way out, he eats the rest of Sam’s pizza from the night before and earns himself the nickname Ski Douche.

Sam starts keeping a list.

+

It’s four in the goddamned morning, not that anyone would be able to tell from the thud of Bucky’s headboard against the wall, the barely-muffled curses echoing through the apartment’s walls, and Steve’s not around, he’s off on a weekend fishing trip with Hipster Hair and so it falls to Sam to pound on Bucky’s door, try to make himself heard above the noise.

But two knocks and the door creaks open crookedly – this whole fucking place is two nails and a piece of gum away from falling apart, but welcome to Brooklyn – and Sam’s met with two identical devious grins on sweaty faces, a wink from a bespectacled blond guy with a ridiculous goatee and his hips don’t even stutter in their movement, drawing an involuntary groan from Bucky even as he tries to avoid Sam’s eyes.

Sam leaves the door ajar, heads to the kitchen and pours himself a drink.

+

They’ve never had a House Meeting before, but Sam figures his strongly-worded four-fifteen AM text got the point across, because Steve and Bucky are sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him the next night, both looking a little confused.

Sam sighs, tries to think of a way to put this delicately, but the words are out of his mouth before he’s even had a chance to spin them politely.

“You two don’t even _realize it_ , do you?”

Bucky cocks his head, watching Sam like he’s a little worried about him, and Steve just smiles benignly, listening intently like he always does and _Christ_ , they’re both so far gone they don’t even _know_ , and for a second Sam wishes he could be as oblivious as they are, because it looks like denial is beautiful this time of year.

He points at Steve.

“Hipster Hair. Sad Face. Ski Douche. Remind you of anyone?”

He gestures toward Bucky, raises his eyebrows. Steve’s forehead creases for a second, like Sam’s speaking in code and he can’t quite parse it, so Sam takes a different tack, meeting Bucky’s eyes instead.

“You’re fucking your way through every blond barrel-chested top in the five boroughs, and you _really_ haven’t seen the resemblance yet?”

Comprehension dawns on Steve first, crimson shock spreading across his features a split-second before Bucky’s eyes fly wide, the both of them beginning to sputter.

Sam crosses his arms, tries desperately not to roll his eyes and fails anyway.

“Look, it doesn’t take a expert but take it from a social worker – you two just need to fuck and _get it over with_. Jesus. Before another one of your strays eats my pizza again and I end up going to jail for one-night-stand-icide.”

Leaving the both of them gaping, Sam turns on his heel, grabbing his jacket and his keys. He’s got a hotel room with his name on it, peace and quiet and blessedly lacking in freshly-fucked, pizza-stealing lookalikes of his best friends.

“See you in the morning.”

+

Sam comes home from work the next day to find Steve bending Bucky over the couch, neither of them even noticing his presence until he clears his throat, covering his eyes while he hovers in the doorway.

He's not really sure what he was expecting.

“I want my deposit back, assholes.”

**Author's Note:**

> for those playing along at home:
> 
> Hipster Hair's TJ Hammond; joined by Seb's Mad Hatter, the Human Torch, Prince Jack Benjamin as Sad Face, Chris Evans' Hot Junkie Lawyer (Puncture) as Suspenders, Sebastian Stan's dumb patriot guy from Hot Tub Time Machine as Ski Douche, and Jensen (The Losers).


End file.
